Dancing with Myself
by chrisfaithalin
Summary: A vignette styled look at Natasha and Clint's partnership from when they first started to work together. They did not immediately get along and it took many months and missions to begin to understand each other.


_If I looked all over the world_

_And there's every type of girl_

_But your empty eyes_

_Seem to pass me by_

_Leave me dancing with myself_

-Dancing with Myself by Billy Idol

It started almost the moment that Fury grudgingly approved that the infamous Black Widow could, perhaps, be an asset to SHIELD. Natasha and Clint left Fury's office, followed shortly by Phil Coulson.

"What do you say to some team building activities?" Clint said excitedly, nudging Natasha.

Her response was to narrow her eyes ever so slightly in his direction.

Clint didn't seem fazed. "We got to build up that trust. You know you fall and I catch you and vice-versa. It's a good idea isn't it Phil?" Clint turned to look at the man silently following them.

There was no response from Phil, which Natasha thought was wise.

"Okay, so no falling exercises. How about we play two truths and a lie or we can sit around drink beer and tell war stories. I bet you have some great war stories."

Clint was silenced by an elbow to the gut, causing him to double over. Natasha didn't bother looking behind her and just kept walking.

"Does that mean you like me?" Clint called out before stage whispering to Phil. "I think she likes me."

Natasha didn't dignify his words with any response and headed instead to her quarters. She made a vow then to do everything by the books so she could request a new partner as soon as possible. She may have owed him a debt for saving her life, but she figured she could repay that debt by restraining herself from killing him.

* * *

"_When I find myself in times of trouble, Mother Mary comforts me, speaking words of wisdom, let it be_," Clint sang softly.

"You're doing it again," Natasha whispered, trying not to move her lips. She glanced around her, looking for the target in the sea of ball gowns and tuxedos.

"Sorry," Clint said, although he didn't sound that contrite. "I'm bored."

She did sympathize with him; he wasn't needed on this job. She just needed to lift the key card off the target, gain access to his computer, download some files, and get out of here without anybody noticing. Not a very difficult job. But it was only her second job for SHIELD so she got a babysitter or backup, depending on which way you looked at it. Clint was stuck on an adjacent rooftop, watching the party from a distance. What she had quickly learned about him was that Clint was not good with silence. He liked to talk to her, even if she couldn't respond, in fact she suspected that was part of the reason he did it. Sometimes he slipped into singing, which she minded significantly less because, she loathed saying it, he had a nice voice and it was soothing to listen to. He didn't have the worst taste in music either. But she would never let him know this.

"What if I sang Russian songs? I don't know any, but I could learn. Would that be okay to sing?" Clint asked lightly.

"No."

"Fine."

There was a precious few minutes of silence as Natasha continued her circle of the room.

It started softly and then grew a little louder. "_Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-nine bottles of beer, you take one down, pass it around, ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall. Ninety-eight bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-eight bottle s of beer_…"

Natasha sighed and turned towards the wall to hide her lips. "Fine, go back to The Beatles," she muttered.

"Thank you," Clint said triumphantly, before resuming his admittedly pretty rendition of "Let it Be".

* * *

"I spy with my little eye something red."

"Shut up Barton," Natasha said from the seat next to him without looking up from her book.

"I told you, you can call me Clint. Why won't you?"

Natasha just ignored him, refusing to engage him. For a sniper, he was awfully fidgety and noisy. He was like this annoying ball of energy that she was stuck with during missions. They just finished their fifth together. She could readily admit that they worked well together, and he was one of the best agents she had ever worked with. But, once the mission was over, he was the most annoying person she had ever met, with his perpetual sarcasm, jokes, and chatter. It was maddening.

"Come on, it's a two hour flight, not long enough to get any good sleep and I'm bored."

Natasha responded by turning the page of her book, not looking up.

"You know instead of being called the Black Widow you should be given a new name like Silent Sally or Standoffish Susan or Cold Clara or Prickly Priscilla or…

"Barton!"

"Fine."

* * *

Natasha looked away from the tv in her apartment as she heard a soft knock on her door. She threw the blanket off herself and got up from the couch. She was mildly surprised to see Clint when she opened the door. It had been six months since they have started working together and while he was a constant annoyance during the day, he had never imposed himself once she retreated to her quarters.

"Can I come in? I come bearing gifts." He held up a six pack of beer and a dvd set, although she couldn't quite catch the title.

She hesitated momentarily but he seemed harmless enough, relaxed looking in a pair of jeans and cotton t-shirt. She stepped aside to let him in.

"Thanks." He wasted no time in making himself at home, setting the beers down on her coffee table and popping a dvd into her dvd player. He grabbed the remotes sitting on the table before plopping down on the couch.

She stood still by the door, unsure of what to do. This was why she hesitated to let him in. Clint had this skill of putting her on edge and she was uneasy around him. She didn't know how to behave like he did. Sure she could charm men and women of every age and background, but that was for missions, for a purpose. She had no idea what this was.

She slowly walked over to the couch and sat on the opposite end as Clint, pulling her legs up so she was cross-legged.

"So, what is this?" She queried.

"It's our first official 24 watch party with accompanying drinking game," Clint explained, handing her a beer before taking one for himself.

"Is 24 a tv show?" She glanced at the menu that was currently on her tv.

"It's only the most epic show ever!"

Natasha raised an eyebrow at him, questioning his enthusiasm.

"Okay, the show is kind of cheesy, but it's fun, especially when you do the drinking game. So basically, the show is about Jack Bauer, who is this counter-terrorist agent, and his attempts to stop terrorists. The show takes place in real time so each season is one day."

Natasha nodded in understanding, although she usually found such action shows ridiculous. They were so unrealistic.

"Trust me," Clint said, as if sensing her doubt. "The fun comes in with the drinking game. You take one drink every time Jack yells 'damnit' or 'son of a bitch'. You also take a drink whenever there is an explosion, somebody mentions that they are running out of time, or somebody says something along the lines of having to trust them. You take two drinks if Jack's daughter gets herself into trouble or kidnapped or if somebody you thought was good is revealed to be bad. Got it?"

She didn't know what it was, but she found herself nodding and agreeing to this. A few months ago she wouldn't have let him into her space and a few weeks ago she would have already kicked him out. Maybe he was more charming than she admitted, or more likely he was just wearing her down. Either way she popped the top of her beer and settled in for the episode.

"Got any alcohol?" Clint asked around two hours later.

After two episodes they had worked their way through the beer and she had a mild buzz going, making her more relaxed. That would be her explanation for abrupt bout of honesty. "What is this all about?"

Clint looked confused. "Well, I thought it was clear. Jack is supposed to…"

Natasha cut him off, shaking her head. "No, why won't you leave me alone?"

"I just…"

But Natasha kept speaking, wanting answers to the questions she had had for months. "For that matter why are you so…I don't even know how to describe you. You are so talkative and seem relatively happy and I don't know why."

Clint must have picked up on the unspoken part of her question. His face darkened and his voice turned somber. "You read my file. You know what kind of person I used to be and you don't know how I could possibly be remotely normal."

Natasha sagged, no longer feeling comfortable with this conversation, seeing the darkness overcome Clint's normally peaceful face.

"There's nothing normal about me, my past, or my current situation," Clint bit out. "I know that. Have you ever heard the phrase fake it 'til you make it?"

"Of course I have, you can't possibly mean this entire time you've just been faking it?"

"It's something I learned years ago and have perfected. If you are constantly pretending to be happy, sometimes it sneaks up on you and you forget for a few brief minutes or hours about all of the unforgivable actions from your past."

Natasha considered his words, examining him. She didn't know how he did it. She was a master at reading people, and she had never picked up on the fact that Clint's entire persona was a mask. She could see it now. She saw the same haunted darkness in his eyes that she knew was mirrored in her own. While she was good at hiding away her own unhappiness, she never put any effort into trying to fake any other emotion. That's probably why she didn't recognize it on Clint.

"So, all this time you have been trying to get me to join in on your game?"

Clint shrugged. "You may hate to admit this but you and I are cut from the same cloth. I figured you could use a little peace, even if it is fleeting."

What could it hurt, she thought. It looked like she was going to be stuck with Clint for the foreseeable future and maybe his fake it 'til you make it method works. She got up and headed to her freezer.

"If you're up to upping the ante for the next episode, I think I've got some vodka and shot glasses." Natasha tried to lighten her tone, mimicking Clints'.

"Vodka? Don't be such a fucking cliché Romanoff," Clint teased.

She laughed a little, although it felt foreign coming from her. She knew it sounded stilted and forced, but it was a beginning.

* * *

"Okay, worse gunshot wound, go," Clint said over his beer at a local dive bar.

Natasha thought about it for a second. "Stomach, nicked some organs and had to go into surgery. You?"

"Left hand, straight through."

"Mine's definitely worse. I had to actually be operated on, yours was a through and through."

"It wasn't just the actual wound, it was my dominant hand." Clint waved his hand as if to prove his point. "I couldn't use it for months."

"I bet your dick was especially unhappy those few months."

Clint choked on his sip of beer, trying not to spit it out while laughing. "Touché Romanoff. Your turn."

Natasha was silent for a minute in thought. This had been one of the many games they started to play when they either went out for drinks, or were bored on missions. They tried to top each other with the worse things that had ever happened. While they kept the tone light and teasing, it was their way of getting to know each other and learn to trust each other without having any emotional heart to heart.

"How about worse non-combat wound."

Clint's face froze for a brief second, before relaxing again. "Nails torn out with pliers."

Natasha gulped, but tried to keep her tone light. "Your torturers had no imagination. That's the oldest one in the book."

"That's what I kept telling them, but they wouldn't listen. How about you?"

"You win that round, broken elbow from an interrogation."

They weren't fooling each other, but that didn't really matter. It was easier to talk about these things as if it was a game, then what it really was, dead men and broken souls.

* * *

"Meatballs," Natasha whispered in an abandoned alleyway that she was walking through to make sure the perimeter was safe.

"Sorbet," Clint responded through his earpiece from his perch on a nearby building.

"Tetrazzini," she replied quickly. She hated this, the waiting. She and Clint were the backup for a new agent named Bobbi. This was her first mission and they were just there to make sure everything went smoothly. She and Clint were passing the time playing last letter, first letter.

"Somebody has Italian on the mind. Let's see, oh, Italian sausage."

"Eggplant."

"Tomato soup."

"You already used tomato earlier."

"But, soup is a whole new food. It's not the same thing."

"I thought we established that once a word was used, it couldn't be used again."

"You tried to get me to agree to that previously when I said applesauce and I said I would never agree to such a rule change."

"Fine, pesto sauce."

"All this talk of Italian food is making me hungry. Umm, enchiladas."

"Will you two shut up," Bobbi's voice cut it. "You two are really distracting to the work I'm trying to do on this computer."

They were both quiet for a few minutes, but Natasha felt that familiar competitive itch. She had actually been having fun and she refused to let Clint have the last word.

"Salt water taffy," Natasha declared.

Clint's laughter filtered through her ear piece, bringing a smile to her own face.

"Yakisoba." Clint also seemed up to continuing the game.

After all, working for SHIELD was a high pressure job and if Bobbi couldn't handle a little extra chatter in the background, then maybe she wasn't cut out for the agency.

* * *

"Come on, let's play tourists today," Clint suggested, shrugging on his light jacket to protect from the cool autumn breeze.

It was tempting. Their flight out of Paris didn't leave until nine tonight, so they had all day to kill. "What would be your suggestion?"

"Have you ever done the catacombs?"

Natasha shook her head. She had only been to Paris twice before and both times she had only had the time for a passing glance at the Eiffel Tower.

"Let's go then. And then maybe we can go up to Sacré Coeur, it's a beautiful view of the city."

"Lead the way."

They hopped on a nearby metro and Natasha let the bustle of the city life surround her and Clint in a blanket of anonymity. They could be anybody they wanted today. They didn't have to be SHIELD agents or master assassins with dark pasts. Today they could be Clint and Natasha, two American friends, she glanced at Clint to see him smiling at her, maybe something more, who were seeing the Parisian sights.

She had to admit that the catacombs were pretty cool and she told as much to Clint. They joked about how if they took out a couple of the bones, would they all come tumbling down like some cartoon. Their laughter had echoed through the tunnels and it was almost unfamiliar to her, how natural it was. Today they were doing an impressive job in faking happiness.

Next he dragged her to the Sacré Coeur and even though she was in shape, she had to admit the stairs up were a bitch. They both were a little short of breath when they finally reached the top. But the view was worth it. Clint beside her grabbed her hand, and she didn't hesitate in clasping it back. They stood like that for a while, a perfect picture of two happy tourists.

"Natasha," Clint whispered, almost reverently.

She turned to look at him more fully and her breath caught in her throat at the softness of his features. She had never seen him look so serene, even while sleeping. His features were smooth except the tilt of his lips, the beginnings of a smile. Natasha didn't let herself overthink it before leaning upwards to kiss him briefly. When she pulled back, his small smile turned into a full grin. She suspected she had a similar expression on her own face. This time he initiated the kiss, being much slower and thorough than she had been.

It was a perfect moment where her past and future melted away, and all she could think about was the now. It occurred to her as they pulled a part, breathless, that maybe today they weren't pretending for once. Maybe, this was what actual happiness felt like.

* * *

"Do I win the worse gunshot wound now?" Clint gritted out, his face covered in sweat.

Natasha inspected the wound, trying to see how deep the bullet was imbedded in his leg. She couldn't feel it which meant it was in there pretty deep, probably up against the bone if Clint's pain was any indicator. She was concerned that if she moved him too much the bullet would move. He was already really lucky that it didn't hit the femoral artery and she was scared if he moved they would be pushing that luck.

"What? This flesh wound? No way, mine was way worse," Natasha responded and she took her jacket and pressed it on the wound.

Clint's face contorted in agony. "How long?"

"Coulson says they will have a chopper here in 20 minutes."

"Am I even going to make it that long?"

Natasha calculated, feeling the warmth of blood already soaking through the cloth. She didn't know. "Of course you are. It's not as bad as it feels."

"You're lying. Fake it 'til you make it indeed."

"Come on, let's play two truths and a lie."

"I told you that first day we would play that one. Okay, I once shaved my eyebrows on a dare. I've lost a game of darts. I don't know how to play pool."

"Easy, you've lost a game of darts."

"Ha that was a trick." Clint coughed roughly. "I don't know how to play pool."

"How do you not know how to play pool? I even know."

Clint merely shrugged, take in a ragged breath.

Natasha started to feel frantic as she glanced at her watch again and felt sticky blood on her hands, completely soaked through her jacket. She tried to keep herself composed but she was probably wasn't fairing so well.

"It's your turn," Clint reminded her.

Without thinking she spouted the first items that popped into her head. "I've never been in love. My first kill was when I was twelve. I don't remember my parents' faces."

"But your first kill wasn't until you were fourteen," Clint said, his voice confused.

She didn't understand. "Yeah, that was my lie."

"Oh, I think I understand now," Clint whispered weakly.

She was saved from responding by the chopper arriving, early for once. She had never been so happy to see the SHIELD insignia. A medic quickly took over and she reluctantly stepped back, keeping her eyes on Clint.

What had he believed was her lie? She pushed the thought aside quickly before jumping in the chopper.

* * *

Natasha stirred the spaghetti sauce before checking the noodles. She hummed along with the radio as she hopped over to the oven to see if the garlic bread was done.

"You dance?" Clint called out from the couch where he was laid up, still immobile from the gunshot wound.

"What?" Natasha froze.

"Just the way you were moving around the kitchen. It looked like dancing."

"I don't dance," Natasha coldly spat out.

Clint raised his hands up in surrender. "I didn't mean anything by it."

Natasha forced her shoulder to relax and gave a small smile. "I know. It's a sore topic."

Clint nodded in understanding but didn't say anything more on the subject, instead turning back to the television. He knew if she wanted to talk about it she would have said something. That was something she loved about him.

Her thoughts raced. Wait, love? Love is for children, she reminded herself. She glanced over at Clint who seemed relaxed here in her apartment. She remembered his confusion back on the mission. He had thought her statement about love had been the lie. Not for the first time she wondered did Clint know her better than even she knew herself? Had he known something that she hadn't at the time?

* * *

Her phone buzzed beside her in the middle of the night, waking her. She flipped it over to see she had a text from Clint.

-I'm so tired of staring at this stupid blue cube. How's Russia?

She laughed and her annoyance at being awoken lessened. They had been separated for a month now and both had been busy. Whenever they had some down time on a mission they tried to text each other.

-Same as always, skimpy outfits and leering old men.

-That's what I love to hear.

-You know I only like it when you leer at me.

-Damn straight. I swear I can't stop fantasizing about your return.

-Me too.

-I bet I think about it more.

-No way.

-So bet? Whoever thinks about having sex with the other the most before you return wins?

-You're on Barton. If I win I get three homemade meals out of you.

-WHEN I win I want first pick of tv shows for two weeks.

-Fair enough.

-Game on.

The next time she had contact with Coulson he told her that Barton had told him to pass along the message of 212. She told him to tell Barton 198. Coulson asked if he wanted to know what this was about. Natasha told him it was probably for the best if he didn't know.

* * *

Everything changed after Loki. For the longest time Natasha had divided her life in Before Red Room Took Her and After Red Room Took Her. Then Clint came along and it became Before Clint Saved Her and After Clint Saved Her. Now she wondered if life would be Before Loki and After Loki.

That first night Clint woke up yelling, his legs tangled in the blanket, his body covered in sweat.

Natasha rolled over so she hovered over him, getting him to focus on her. "Shhhh, it was just a dream."

"You were…I…" Clint choked out.

"I'm here. You're here. We're alive."

Clint reached up and traced her face with one hand, terror still written all over his face. He considered her for a few minutes before his face drained of all emotion. His face hardened, his features neutral. He pecked her forehead before gently moving her back to her side of the bed. He got up, grabbing a t-shirt from the dresser to throw on with his sweats.

"What are you doing Clint?"

"I just need some fresh air. I'm going for a walk."

"Do you want company?" Natasha asked, even though she already knew the answer.

He turned to her, gave her a forced smile before heading to the door. "I'll be fine. Go back to sleep. I won't be long."

She didn't get any sleep the rest of the night and he didn't return until after she had taken her shower and eaten breakfast. She didn't bother asking where he had been and he didn't offer any explanation.

* * *

She observed Clint lifting weights from across the SHIELD training facility. It had been a week and there had been no change with Clint. He still was with her, but his mind was somewhere else. She knew that he was going through all of the events over and over again, tallying up all the deaths that he believed he had caused. He was trying to own every single mistake, even if they weren't his to own.

She didn't know what to with him. She had said all of the obvious things she could to him, that it wasn't his fault and nobody blamed him. He didn't believe her then and she knew to keep trying to get him to see reason would be futile. She wanted him to return to her. She wanted him to fight. She wanted him to pretend like he taught her to do all those years ago. She wanted something.

"Hey Barton," Natasha called out. "Up for a sparring match?"

Clint grunted as he set the weights back down before picking up a towel and wiping his forehead. "Sorry, I'm not really up to it. I've already worn myself out."

Natasha nodded as he came towards her "That's fine. Have you thought anymore about Fury's offer to give us a month or two off?"

"Not particularly."

Natasha sighed at the complacency of his voice. "I think we should take it. Maybe go to our safe house in Oregon."

Clint shrugged. "If you want to."

"I do."

"Okay." He kissed her briefly on the forehead before exiting.

Natasha frowned. Hopefully some time away in one of their favorite places would loosen him up. If nothing else, there was nowhere he could really go out in the country and she would force a reaction out of him if she had to. She was reminded of their first months working together and how obnoxious he had been, trying to bait her. She could do the same if it came down it.

* * *

Natasha watched Clint from the porch swing outside the house in Oregon. Clint was in the field rapidly firing at a still target. She had once asked him why he bothered; there was no challenge in it. He had responded that it was peaceful. She hoped that he was granted some peace now. They had been here a week and while he seemed to be in a slightly better temperament since they had arrived, he still wasn't himself. She suspected that would only come with time. She returned to her book, hoping it would distract her.

"Hey," Clint said softly, returning from the field.

"Hey," Natasha responded, following Clint's movements as he set down his bow and joined her on the swing. He put his arm around her and she curled up next him, getting as close as possible. She felt herself relax into the embrace; the familiarity was comforting. "I've missed you." She didn't clarify that she wasn't referring to their month long separation before Loki.

"I know. I'm trying the best I can." He understood. He always did.

"I know."

They sat in silence for a few peaceful minutes. He traced patterns along her arm and she counted his heartbeats under her hand.

"We never did figure out who won that bet," Natasha said, breaking the silence.

"What bet?"

"The one we had going about who thought about the other the most. Last I remember you were ahead."

Clint chuckled, not a full laugh, but it was something. "I forgot about that. In fact, I had been adding one to my tally when Fury had come to assess the situation with the cube."

It was Natasha's turn to laugh. "The world could have been going to hell in a hand basket and you chose to think of me? I'm flattered."

"What can I say, I'm a multi-tasker. My final count was 342."

"Ha, mine was 498."

"How did you get so far ahead?" Clint sputtered.

"I like to finish strong. Besides, there were many lonely nights that I had trouble sleeping. I needed to do something to pass the time and should I say unwind," Natasha whispered, her voice like silk.

"I guess I owe you a couple of dinners."

"I would accept payment in another form." Natasha raised an eyebrow.

Clint looked away briefly before meeting her gaze. "I can't. Not tonight."

Natasha wanted to huff and pout. She had never been the patient one. She knew though, this conversation alone was already an improvement. He just needed time. She smiled sweetly, leaning up to kiss his jaw before placing her head back on his shoulder. "Not tonight, but soon?"

"Soon," Clint agreed.

* * *

"Dinner's almost ready," Clint called out.

"It smells good," Natasha replied from her seat in the front room. She was curled up on the couch with her book, listening to a local radio station.

They had been here two weeks and Natasha was pleased that Clint was slowly emerging from the place he had been hiding, one day at a time. There was no one moment that seemed to have a huge impact on him; rather it was the little things. Going grocery shopping together. Cleaning weapons. Watching tv. These small things seemed to slowly help him. It was in turn making her feel lighter.

The song switched on the radio and on came Billy Idol's "Dancing with Myself". Her foot started to tap and she smiled at the tune. She loved this song. She remembered back to when Clint had asked her if she danced and she said no. Maybe this could be a small gift in return for all that he had given her.

She stood up and started to slowly move her body to the beat, letting her hips sway a little. She added her voice, singing along shyly.

"Hey, dinner's ready…" Clint walked into the front room and froze.

Natasha grinned at him and started to add a bounce to her dance, twirling around. She wasn't dancing in the formal sense, but she was having fun. She let her body move with the music, her arms twisted above her as she shook her head from side to side, letting her curls fly around her. She must be quite the sight.

Clint's laughter rang out and she let her own laughter mingle with his. She put her arms out, using her hands to beckon Clint to join her. He didn't hesitate. He bounced along to the music. They both sang at the top of their lungs, not caring if it sounded pretty or not, making faces at each other and spinning around, letting their bodies flow with the music.

Eventually the song transitioned to a slower tune, The Mamas and the Papas' "Dream a Little Dream of Me". Just as smooth as the transition between songs, Clint pulled her into his arms and started to dance her around the living room.

"You never told me you could dance?" Natasha asked, incredulous at his skill as he spun her around.

"You don't need to sound so shocked," Clint teased.

"You don't seem like the dancing type."

"I'm not really. Forced into lessons as a kid."

"Oh." She let the topic drop, not wanting to damper the mood with talk of childhoods.

Clint slowed them down and they were dancing less and more swaying to the music. She leaned back a little so she could look into Clint's face. She traced his jaw, pleased to see many of the lines smoothed away. He looked more serene than he had in a long time.

"Thank you," Clint murmured.

"For what?"

"For being patient. I know this hasn't been easy."

"It never is with us."

"No, it isn't."

"It's okay. You are worth it. You know I love you right?"

Clint nodded in response and that's when she saw something open up in his face.

"And you love me, don't you?"

Clint nodded again.

"How is it you know my emotions better than I do?"

Clint smiled, kissing her briefly. "You are an open book to me."

"I just don't get it. You are harder to read for me than anybody else."

Clint shrugged. "Maybe, you just have never been trained to read the people you actually care about and the emotions that come with it."

"It's as good of an explanation as any," Natasha admitted.

"Come on." Clint released her, but grabbed her hand to pull her towards the dining room. "Dinner is getting cold."

Natasha followed him into the dining room and joined him at the table. They both dished up and started up a heated discussion over what were the best songs of the 80's. It was while Clint made a case for Bon Jovi's "Livin' on a Prayer", when she finally realized that they had survived this latest trial and come out the other end. They would never be what they used to be, but wasn't that the story of their life. But as long as they had each other, they could pull each other through anything.

A/N: A couple notes on this. First, credit due where it is due. The last letter, first letter game was inspired by The Truth About Forever by Sarah Dessen and the counting of thoughts of having sex with each other game was a shameless steal from The Unusuals. Oh and 24 drinking game is a blast, although I rarely use alcohol because sometimes Jack says damnit a shit ton of times, lol.

Overall, I'm really happy with this story, which does not happen often. I walked into it having the 24 scene and the final scene in my head and somehow it morphed into this snapshot styled story. I normally don't write stories like this, I have only one other story like it, but nonetheless I think it is fun. That's all I was trying to do with this story, have a little fun. I hope you enjoyed reading half as much as I enjoyed writing it. Let me know what you thought, both positive and negative. Thanks!.


End file.
